Shekinah
by losing
Summary: "Some religions go so far as to refer to her as God's bride, but I find the title to be a little pretentious... and incestuous," murmured the former angel. Dean swallowed and looked to the sleeping woman behind him. Had he really just slept with heaven's golden girl?


**AN:** Hello lovely readers! This story began as a little nondescript paragraph saved to my documents and the idea to really start writing it hit me when I should have been studying for finals but instead binged season upon season of SPN. Now, I don't want to give away too much too early, but know that this is a Dean/OC fic. I know, I know. Destiel is my second OTP and this feels a bit like betrayal, but I promise it'll be good.

So hang on and let's enjoy the ride together.

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I was curious. They told me that it would be my downfall; curiosity would end me. It's not that I didn't listen, nor did I not care. I simply wasn't bothered by their predictions. I had died over a thousand times, lived over a thousand lives. Death made no difference to me. I suppose that's why I was able to walk confidently through this Croat-invested place to the front gates of Camp Chitaqua with relative ease, right?

I stood at the gates, fingers gripping the chain link, rattling them to get attention. The guards hadn't even seen me walk up. "Pathetic," I muttered to myself. And then loudly, "Hey! Let me in! Quick!"

Finally, a man leaned over the top and took notice of me. His face spelled utter shock. I rolled my eyes and glanced behind. Lucifer had made sure the journey from my camp to this one had been an uneventful one, but judging by the encroaching Croats, he was growing restless. There was movement above. A gruff voice rang out above the others.

"Where the hell did she come from and why the hell did you not see her stroll through our front yard?"

I heard a noise, the snapping of a twig, the rustle of a leaf. I swiveled around and faced the oncoming apocalyptic zombies. I placed tentative hands on the hilts of the twin short swords strapped to my hips. The dual blades were severely outdated for these modern times with its rifles and pistols and other firepower, but they had been with me since my first mortal life and I had ways of making sure they remained well preserved. They were a part of me, a constant to my ever-changing reincarnations.

There was a growl from one of the Croats and they were upon me in a flash. I only had time to withdraw one sword to defend myself. I lashed out swiftly, cleanly slicing through three fingers of a Croat dressed in an ill-fitting gray suit. He staggered back and hissed. The others, about seven in total, circled around me cautiously. I beheaded the one in the suit and had a quick moment to breathe before I was attacked again. By the time I had hacked my way through the croatoan zombies, the camp gates had finally been opened and a small group of heavily armed men circled around me. I panted, covered in blood and surrounded by carved up corpses, and glowered at the men. Their delay forced me to kill. I hated killing. It was always so… _messy._

One man in particular stood out. He had short sandy hair, piercing green eyes, and a scowl to match my own. I smirked despite myself. He was clearly the leader of this ragtag bunch. I wiped my sword lazily on my ruined shirt.

"I've not been infected, if that's what you're wondering," I said casually. I sheathed the blade. "I just—"

"Shekinah?"

I glanced up sharply at the mention of _that name,_ one I had shed long ago. I locked eyes with a dark-haired man. Though he looked a little worse for wear and unmistakably human, I recognized him. "Castiel," I greeted coolly.

"Cas, you know her?" As soon as the leader spoke, I identified him as the speaker from earlier. I raised an eyebrow. He seemed very comfortable talking with a former angel. Even though he was now human, even Cas seemed overly relaxed responding.

"Yes, of course. She's—"

"Look, let's talk somewhere less open, shall we?" I gestured towards the inside of the camp. The assembled men looked to green-eyes and he nodded his consent, but not before he forced me to unbuckle my sword belt and hand my weapons over. I was then made to walk between two burly men with menacing guns. Once inside, the gates clanked shut. A small crowd had gathered. I could hear their whisperings as I was escorted through the camp. I looked at them all carefully. Sunken, weary faces stared at me in turn. Their expressions were all grave, serious and calculating. Hunters. The lot of them.

We walked for a ways before I was able to pinpoint a specific destination. Just up the worn dirt path was a rickety shack, but clearly one of the most substantial buildings around. Headquarters. When we reached the steps leading up to the door, green-eyes stopped. With another nod, he dismissed the men. Only he and Castiel remained. Both regarded me curiously. I gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Cas, let me talk to her alone for a minute, would you?"

Castiel grunted. "I don't think that's a good idea, Dean."

_Dean._ So he was the Winchester, there was no mistaking it. Castiel's presence was enough of a giveaway, if the man's imposing existence wasn't enough of a beacon.

"Look, you know her, so she has to be an angel, right?" he asked through gritted teeth. "I have something I need to discuss. In private."

Castiel paused for a moment before he hung his head in resignation and walked away. Dean then gestured for me to follow him. He unlocked the shack door and stepped aside to let me through.

"I think you hurt his feelings," I commented as I passed him. I looked around the room. Dark. Sparse. Filthy. I sighed. It was like everything in this world in the past five years.

Dean ignored my comment. "First, I should make sure you haven't been infected. I'll send for Jane. She's gentle."

His sarcasm wasn't lost on me. I sized him up; rough exterior, the wrinkles drawing his eyes together spoke of hardship—more specifically great loss. His hands were clenching and unclenching reflexively at his sides. His mouth was set in a grim line, but his eyes still roamed my body up and down and then up again. It was clear he had seen more than his fair share of physical activity, of all sorts, but he had hunger emanating from every pore. He screamed of need, of a deep-rooted desire that he himself certainly wasn't yet aware of. It was all there, written out so easily for me to read. If we were in the club, I knew playing the slightly dominating, worried maternal card would win him over in a heartbeat.

"That seems so unnecessary when you could _examine_ me yourself," I purred. I pulled at the hem of my soiled shirt and pulled it over my head, letting the wet fabric fall to the floor. "Five years of this and I'm sure you know the signs intimately by now."

His eyes widened slightly as I popped the button on my jeans. Still, he was stubborn. "You're an angel," he muttered as I slid the blue material down my thighs.

I looked up at him and winked. "Not in this life, bucko."

"Then who are you?" he spat out, never taking his eyes off me.

"Marie Ellis. Twenty-three. Burlesque dancer." I stood boldly in my underwear under his scrutinizing gaze. Dean circled me, checking for any telltale wounds. He would find none, I knew. But he was overly cautious, as hunters tended to be.

"Funny. Castiel called you by another name."

Apparently satisfied with his examination, he walked over to a cabinet and threw a forest green tank top at me. I scrunched my nose up at the too-big shirt. Who kept clothes in a cabinet? I shook my head and slipped the top on. Next came a pair of sweatpants. As I pulled the clothes on, Dean looked at me expectantly.

"Castiel knew me in another life," I replied, "my first one."

"So you are an angel," he stated. "Or, at least, you _were_."

I pursed my lips. "For all your knowledge on demons, you humans know next to nothing about angels."

I watched as Dean grabbed a brown bottle from the refrigerator. He popped the cap off with his bare hand and kept eye contact as he took a long drink. "Enlighten me."

I chuckled and crossed my arms just under my chest, forcing my breasts up and out. I had his undivided attention. "What is it that you want from me, Dean?"

He gulped and I struggled to contain my satisfied smirk. It took him a moment to collect himself. "Are you cut off like Cas?" he asked finally. "Are you human?"

I looked him in the eye and wondered how much I should risk telling him. I'd been skirting around the truth, but no doubt Castiel would soon tell him my entire history in Heaven. "No," I admitted finally. "I'm not entirely human. But I'm not fully an angel. This body is mine, not a vessel. I was born and I have lived a mortal life, but I have retained a connection with Heaven."

"Then tell me why Michael hasn't answered me."

I raised my eyebrows in question. "You've called for Michael?"

"Called for him? I've screamed until I was blue in the face. I shouted for that bastard until I had no voice left. And every 'yes' went unanswered and _I want to know _**why**."

And suddenly the man who stood before me looked utterly broken. His muscles sagged with unforgiving age and his frame bent with regret. The angels had spoken of the Winchesters for years, before the apocalypse. Their conversations had always focused on Dean, the strong one, the stubborn one, Michael's vessel. But they never spoke of this Dean, the one who had had to watch as celestial beings took every person he ever loved and cared for. This Dean was nowhere near what I had been expecting.

"The angels have been quiet for some time now," I replied softly. I walked slowly towards him until I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. I tugged the beer from his hands and he looked at me in surprise. I gave a small smile and took a long pull from the bottle, groaning in satisfaction as the acrid drink rushed to the back of my throat. Again, Dean was watching me, his gaze growing more and more predatory with every glance. "Wherever they are, it's not heaven. Any more questions?"

"So tell me," he murmured as he took a step closer, "what was a pretty little thing like you doing in the middle of Croat territory?" He was still trying for sarcasm. Poor thing, I thought. It was his defense, make jokes, belittle the situation. It wasn't working.

I placed the bottle on a nearby table, never broke eye contact, and let my hand hover near his. I tilted my head, a subtle movement that suddenly had our lips inches apart. I could feel his breathing hitch. His pupils dilated in the dimming evening light. I _had_ him.

I let my fingers travel up his hand, trace a swirling pattern up his arm, and finally cupped them around his neck. His body went rigid at my touch, but the slight shaking of his core betrayed to me how badly he wanted to respond. I brought his ear to my mouth and whispered, "I heard I could get an easy lay."

His lips crashed into mine with a growl. He sucked viciously at my bottom lip as his hands raked at my hips. I grabbed at his biceps and suddenly he lifted me just under my buttocks and shoved my back against the wall. My head collided with the rough metal and I dug my nails into his arms. His pelvis was flush against my crotch, my legs hooked above the definite curve of his ass to pull him even closer. His mouth travelled downward and I moaned in pleasure, encouraging him further. His hips thrust involuntarily and I knew before either made a move to start removing clothing. I _knew._

Dean Winchester was mine.

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**AN: **Fun fact: I like to pretend I'm clever. Marie is a name that means "bitter". Ellis means many different things, from "my god is the Lord" to, as a surname, "benevolent". The name Shekinah will be explained probably in the next chapter.

So, there you have it, the first chapter. I hope it was good. But I also hope you're slightly confused and have already thought of a few different ways this could be going. I tried to keep a lot of the details about Marie and her possible intentions open-ended.

Let me know what you think. I definitely take your input seriously and, honestly, if there's anything you'd like to see, I'd be more than happy to try to write it in.


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